Damage Control
by pillar-of-salt
Summary: "Are you drunk right now, Mike? Is that what it takes for you to find me attractive?" They don't sleep together on election night.


_A/N: I don't know why I can't stop writing them. Set during/after election night (3.08 Breakout Capacity), but things go a little differently._

* * *

"So let's make a bet," Mike said, about three drinks in. He was enjoying the atmosphere, the light buzz, the verbal sparring. Now, he wanted to see if he could destabilize her a little.

"I'm listening."

"So for every state that Reynolds or Evans wins, I'll buy us another round. For every state that Dalton wins — which ostensibly means another state closer to you keeping your job — you buy."

Nadine merely raised an eyebrow. "That's not a bet; that's a drinking game. I'll die."

He frowned. "Wait, you're right. Let me try it differently. What if I bet that they're going to throw the vote to the House?"

" _You,_ taking the non-cynical side?" She put on an air of false astonishment.

"Sometimes I like to bet on the dark horse." Mike shrugged. An odd look passed over Nadine's face, a flicker of a wistful smile, but it was gone before he could even begin to think of what it might mean.

After a beat, she said, "Is it even ethical of me to stake against my own interests? My country's interests? What kind of public servant does that make me?"

"Scared to take the bet?"

"Scared to _win_ the bet _."_

"Oh, come on. You don't believe in Dalton?"

"Of _course_ I believe in Dalton," she said, rolling her eyes, "but that doesn't mean I'm delusional."

"You're pessimistic," he said.

"Practical," she corrected.

"Are you gonna take the bet or not?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine," she said. "If you win, drinks are on me. If I win, drinks are on you, and a lot of them. I'll need it."

"We both will." He raised her glass, and she tapped hers to it.

The time spun away from them. The bar was growing louder and louder with each passing hour, everyone getting as sloshed as was reasonable on a weekday. He didn't mean to spend the _entire_ evening talking to Nadine, but that was how it was turning out, and anyway he was enjoying her company.

She was quick-witted even when she was tipsy. And her laughs were freer, her tongue was sharper. Her body half-melted against the railing, and there was a pretty flush in her cheeks. A hint of an accent began to creep in on her words — Jersey, maybe? — though she was valiantly fighting it back. When he asked, she blushed a little and wouldn't say.

But even so, she was still so very put together, and it struck him that she was never _not_ the picture of perfect poise. Distantly, Mike wondered what it would take to divest her of her self-control.

Just an errant thought, but it quickly took root and began to grow. Soon all he could think about was how much he wanted to mess up her hair and ruin her makeup.

He argued her on tax litigation as they kept an eye on the election coverage. Ohio was the only state left that mattered, now, and if Dalton got this one, Mike would win their little bet.

And maybe he should blame the scotch, but the longer he stood here and bantered with her, the more he _wanted_ her. It was a little bit because of the way she wasn't intimidated by him, wasn't afraid to knock him down a little, wasn't impressed in the least by his act or reputation. And the way she'd been standing so close to him for the past hour, so close that he could feel the heat of her body against his side. And the way she was looking at him, like she knew that she could take him apart at will and was simply choosing not to. He wondered if the attraction was mutual. He thought it could be.

And he was feeling pleasantly warm and maybe _just_ drunk enough to explore that. The booze was making him ballsy.

"Let's up the stakes," he said suddenly. Impulsively. Congress was minutes away from calling Ohio.

She frowned. "What do you have in mind?"

"If you win," he said, and then paused for a second, considering it. "If you win, I will kick Blake off the piano and perform a very loud, very inebriated rendition of _New York, New York_ for the entire bar."

She snorted. "Oh really."

"Uh-huh. I'll even let you record it."

"Can I send it to everyone we work with?"

"Don't push it."

"And if _you_ win, what?" she asked.

He leaned in closer, under the pretense of her being able to hear him better.

 _Just go for it, Barnow._

"If I win," he said into her ear, "I get to take you home with me."

He'd surprised her. She pulled back and stared at him, as if searching his face to see if he were kidding or not. Just a second or two, but for Mike it seemed to stretch on interminably. He forced himself to wait.

An enigmatic smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "And do what with me, Mike?"

"That's up to you." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You embarrassing yourself in front of the bar and me sleeping with you are hardly equivalent wagers," she pointed out, but even just hearing her say the words out loud did funny things to his insides. She wasn't saying _no_.

"But if you win, I lose," he pointed out. "If I win, we _both_ win."

"You're in dangerous waters here," she warned.

"I'm feeling brave."

She leaned back against the railing and took another sip of her drink, considering him. Slowly, shamelessly, her eyes trailed all the way down his body and then back up again. Mike's eyes never left her face. When a wide, slow grin graced her mouth, he felt his heartbeat speed up. "Okay," she said finally. "Deal."

His smile was irrepressible. _Jackpot!_

And when they called Ohio for Conrad Dalton, Mike was elated for one very specific reason.

The bar exploded for quite another.

Nadine clutched her chest and sagged against the railing in a vision of pure relief. "Oh thank god," she said, or at least he thought she said — he couldn't hear her over all the noise. She pulled him in for a hug, and the entire front of her body melted against the entire front of his. She shifted her hips ever so slightly against him, and it could've been an accident, but Mike didn't think so.

"Congratulations," he said. A curl of her hair brushed his cheek. "You get to stay employed for at least a couple months longer." She pulled back and, locking eyes with him, slipped her hand into his. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She deliberately misunderstood. "Am I sure that you won?"

"To hell with the bet. Are you sure that you _want to_." He wanted her, but he wasn't going to take her anywhere she didn't want to go; bet or no bet. He wasn't a creep.

She affected a teasing lilt to her tone. "Did you change your mind about me, Barnow?"

"Nope. I just need to know that you want this, too."

She leaned in, and her lips brushed against the shell of his ear when she murmured, "Take me home, Mike."

He restrained himself from hauling her bodily out of the bar.

* * *

Mike spent most of the ride home wondering rather nervously whether Nadine would suddenly change her mind about him. (She didn't.) And when they reached his driveway, he tipped the driver a handful of singles — he wasn't entirely sure how much — and climbed out of the cab. He held the door open and offered Nadine his hand. She took it as she got out after him, but lost her footing a little bit and stumbled into him with uncharacteristic gracelessness. She swore under her breath but patted his chest gratefully.

"Easy," he murmured. "How hungover are you gonna be tomorrow?"

She made a face. "I'm not _that_ drunk. You?"

"I don't get hungover," he said matter-of-factly. He led her up to the porch and pulled his keys out of his pocket. But as he searched for the right one, they slipped out of his hands and clattered to the ground. "Damn it." She snorted. He finally got the door open and gestured for her to go in ahead of him.

He barely had time to shut and lock the door before Nadine pressed herself against him, suddenly close enough for him to feel her breath pass over his lips. Gently, she curled a finger under his chin and guided his mouth to hers.

The kiss was unexpectedly sweet. She moved her lips over his tenderly, exploring him, as her hands crept under his suit jacket and over his chest. Questing fingers crept into the gaps between the buttons of his shirt. She grasped his tie with one hand, using it to tug him closer. Mike slid his hands under her hair, and he cradled the back of her head possessively as he kissed her back. When he deepened it, she let out a tiny moan that went straight to his cock.

He suddenly spun her around and pinned her against the door. He skimmed his hands down her sides, and when he reached the hem of her blouse he moved under it to stroke smooth, bare skin instead.

She broke the kiss on a gasp. "Your hands are cold."

"Sorry," he mumbled, but there was no way he was going to let go of her now. He slid his hands up to her ribcage as his lips began to trace a path along the edge of her jaw. He tucked a finger under the band of her bra and snapped it lightly against her skin.

Nadine squirmed a little under his hands and his mouth. She brought her own hands to the buttons of her blouse, fumbling a little as she worked to undo them, and when the two halves of her shirt parted, she arched against him to wiggle it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, and Mike took a step back to look at her.

"Christ."

She bit her lip. He pulled her to him again.

He walked them backwards into the living room as he kissed her hard, swaying a little as he tried not to trip over anything unfortunate on his journey to the sofa. The back of his legs hit it a little sooner than he'd anticipated, and he fell into the cushions, pulling her down on top of him as he went. She yelped. The sudden shift of gravity made his head spin, and from the way she was clutching his shoulders for dear life, probably hers too. He muttered something about the couch not being where he thought it was.

"You're drunk," she accused, smiling. She was looking down at him with just a hint of shamelessness in her grin, all white teeth and flushed lips and wicked glee. It was an attractive look on her.

"Nope," he said, though of course they both knew that wasn't true. " _You_ are, though." He slid his hands over her ass and squeezed. She giggled as she leaned down to kiss him again with purposeful intent and plenty of tongue. Not an exploration, this time; a seduction.

Mike groaned. She was filling up his senses in a way that had him wondering whether his inebriation had more to do with the single malt or with her. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and dragged his nails lightly up her back, making her shiver. His fingers hit on the clasp of her bra and he undid it with ease.

"We both are," she finally said against his lips. She was euphoric and full of life, as if the impropriety of this all simply exhilarated her. Her mouth curved into a smile again. "How drunk are you?" It was a rhetorical question, and if he weren't half-gone he might have realized that there was no good way to answer it that _wouldn't_ get him into big trouble. He spoke before his mind had a chance to catch up.

"Drunk enough."

Nadine froze. "W-what did you just say?"

"Wait. Shit. I didn't mean it like that." Belatedly, his brain began to sound warning alarms in his head.

But she'd already leapt up from the couch, clutching her bra against her chest, and disappeared into the foyer. Mike followed immediately, watching as she bent down and searched through her purse, on the floor where she'd set it not ten minutes ago, and seized on her phone. He watched as she unlocked it and, with a couple of taps, immediately called for an Uber. She was ending their night before it could even get started.

"That came out wrong. I didn't mean it that way," he tried again. He reached for her elbow, trying to reel her back into him, but she recoiled at his touch and jerked her arm away.

"Don't." She yanked up the falling straps of her bra, then curled her arms behind herself to hook it closed again.

"Nadine, I'm sorry, I —"

She whirled on him. " _Drunk enough_ to… to what? To fuck me?"

"No, that's not what I —"

"If you didn't want to sleep with me, Mike, you didn't have to bring me home," she muttered angrily. "There were plenty other women you could've —"

"Of course I wanted — I still w—"

"Save it." She was insulted, and he couldn't blame her.

 _Way to fucking go, Barnow. You prick._

He wanted to kick himself.

Mike ran a hand over his hair. He was sobering up at lightning speed. He watched as she snatched her blouse off the floor and pulled it back on, covering up all that bare skin, and he silently mourned his missed opportunity with an intense regret. He should be getting her naked but he'd fucked it up and now she was getting dressed and leaving him instead.

"Nadine," he pleaded. He felt desperate to at least make her understand that he wasn't an asshole. Just an idiot. But she paid him no attention as she grabbed the rest of her things.

Through the window, light flooded the room as a pair of headlights swung into his driveway. Her Uber. She walked out the door without another word, and slammed it shut behind her.

* * *

Mike had a scheduled meeting with Elizabeth in the afternoon. In her office. On the seventh floor. In the State Department.

The thought of running into Nadine at her workplace, after he'd turned what _should_ have been a fantastic night into a complete shitshow, had him on edge all day. He needed to apologize, he just didn't know what to say.

When he strode through the main atrium, he tried not to let his apprehension show.

He caught no glimpse of Nadine on his way to Elizabeth's office, but five minutes later, she walked in of her own accord, with Blake and Daisy on her heels. Her dress fit her like a glove, framing everything he'd missed out on, and he tried not to stare. She didn't even cast a glance in his direction.

"Sorry, gotta run," Elizabeth said, and he snapped his attention back to her. "Speaking engagement." She left, and her staff all followed.

"Wait, Nadine —" Mike called, but Nadine pretended not to hear. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He got up and jogged after them all. Blake veered back toward his desk, and Elizabeth and Daisy into Matt's office. Nadine was walking toward hers. When she went in, he was right on her heels. "Can we talk?"

"I'm working," she said. She still wouldn't look at him. At her desk, she settled her glasses on her nose and flipped through a few pages of a file before picking up the phone and dialing a number.

"It'll just take a minute," he tried.

She glanced up. "You can leave the door propped open on your way out."

He understood a dismissal when he heard one _._

* * *

There was a critical period of time during which he could maybe still attempt to fix all this. Mike was acutely aware that this window was quickly closing.

So he came back to State later, around the time that he knew Nadine would most probably be leaving, and waited in the parking garage. She wouldn't talk to him in the office earlier, so this time he stayed where he could keep an eye on her car — maybe she'd give him a chance if there was no audience. Creepy, but he was desperate.

He still had to wait awhile before she showed up. It was the sound of her car being unlocked that got his attention. Mike watched as she opened the passenger door and deposited her handbag and briefcase on the seat. As she straightened up and walked round the other side, he got out of his own car and walked toward her. He called her name.

She turned around, visibly startled. When she saw it was him, something in her posture tightened. "You shouldn't accost lone women in parking garages," she said tersely. "Especially at night."

He came closer. "You've been avoiding me. I just wanna talk. Please."

She shook her head. "We have nothing to discuss, Mike."

"At least let me apologize."

She crossed her arms but didn't say anything. He took this as invitation to continue.

"I was an ass. I was drunk, and all my words came out wrong. Not that that's an excuse. But I didn't mean it the way... the way you probably thought I meant it. I'm sorry."

He'd had _Nadine Tolliver_ under his hands and if there was ever a time not to fuck it up it would have been then. He imagined that she didn't go home with just anyone.

She sighed. "How was I supposed to take it, Mike? What was I supposed to think?"

"I was just —"

"Horny? Looking for an easy lay?"

"No, that's not —"

"If you're drunk enough, anyone will do, right?" She rolled her eyes, but Mike could see that she was still hurt. And so was he — he never meant for her to think that. He _didn't_ think that.

"I didn't want _anyone_ ," he said tightly, wanting to be very clear on this. "I wanted _you_."

For some reason, that seemed to make her angry. She took a few steps toward him, closing in until there were only inches of space left between them. Something about her seemed so dangerous in that moment that he had to consciously force himself to stand his ground. "Why? Are you drunk right now, Mike?" she asked quietly. "Is that what it takes for you to find me attractive?"

"Absolutely not. _No_."

She shook her head, and turned back to her car. She didn't believe him, he could tell. She was going to leave, and all he knew was that he didn't want to leave things like this.

Impulsively, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. He kissed her hard on the mouth.

She made a noise of muffled surprise and grew rigid, and her hands came up to seize on his upper arms, as if about to push him off of her. Mike wondered if he had just made another terrible mistake.

But just as he was about to pull away, her lips melted under his. She was kissing him _back_.

So he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her closer to his body, and moved his lips over hers like he meant it.

He backed her up, pinning her against her own car, and slid his hands into her hair. She grasped at the lapels of his suit and her tongue traced the seam of his lips. He opened his mouth to her. He groaned as she turned the kiss into something dirty and heated — he remembered this well from last night. She was a fantastic kisser and fuck, he could get hooked on this. On her.

He was growing rapidly, uncomfortably hard and he knew that she could feel it, too. Her hips jutted purposefully into his and he grunted. "God, I want you," he mumbled against her lips.

"Do you?" Boldly, she reached down and slid her palm over his erection.

He moaned and broke the kiss. He pressed his lips to the pale column of her throat instead, and felt her swallow under his lips. He heard a small moan in his ear. He could discern the faint traces of the perfume that still lingered there, melding with her skin — she smelled good enough to eat. Combined with the potent sensation of her touching him, his head spun. She was intoxicating.

She grasped him roughly through his pants and he swore. "Do you?" she said again.

"Yes I do, of course I do," he gasped. "I'd be crazy not to."

Nadine smirked. "Good." She gave him another squeeze that made his breathing stutter. "That's all I needed to know."

Before he could catch up, she let go of him and slid out from between his body and her car. She got inside and started the engine.

Nadine paused to give him a once-over. Her eyes lingered over his crotch, then flicked up to his face. "Walk it off, Mike," she said crisply.

Without so much as another glance in his direction, she shut her door. A second later, and she was pulling out of her parking spot, leaving him there alone, stunned, and still hard.

 _Jesus Christ_.

Stiffly, Mike walked in the direction of his own car. He wondered if he should call her tomorrow; if she'd even be inclined to take his calls. He didn't know if she was even interested anymore, but all he knew was that he _had_ to convince her to give him another chance. He was going to wine and dine her, and he didn't care what it took.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


End file.
